


It’s just cake

by Hypatia_66



Series: Office time UNCLE HQ [9]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, chocolate cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 02:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20399845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: thaw, loan, greenThe grapevine has somehow missed Illya - why?





	It’s just cake

There was silence in the room, apart from the rustle of a page from time to time. Napoleon found silence oppressive and tended to break it with either heavy sighs, or with comments on his own reading. Illya ignored him completely; he was used to Napoleon’s foibles in this respect and, capable of cutting himself off from whatever kind of company he was in, remained engrossed in a physics journal.

Napoleon, of course, was equally used to being ignored; but he also knew a way of breaking into his partner’s self-generated purdah. “I heard Delia was making one of her chocolate cakes for the commissary today,” he said.

The blond head lifted. “What?”

“Care to join me before the herd gets there?”

Illya sized him up to see if he were serious. “She didn’t tell me… Are you sure? How do you know?”

Napoleon touched his nose. “You know my methods, Watson,” he said.

“Have you been subverting my relationship with Delia, Holmes?”

Napoleon merely grinned and made for the door. Deciding that he might even be serious, Illya followed him out of the office.

<> 

There was already a line of agents waiting to collect a slice of this rare luxury – not that chocolate cakes in general were rare, but Delia’s were something else.

Napoleon counted the remaining slices on the tray, counted the line of agents preceding Illya and groaned inwardly. He should have said something earlier. He anticipated a deep freeze in the partnership…

They reached their goal to find the tray, as Napoleon had correctly computed, empty. Illya turned and looked at him. “How did _you_ and _they _know, but I didn’t?” he said coldly. “And why didn’t you say something before?”

“Sorry, old friend. I thought we’d be in time.”

Illya looked gloomily at the pastries and turned to leave in disgust, when Delia herself emerged from the kitchen and cried, “Illya!” to his retreating back.

He turned and went to the end of the counter as she beckoned. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep some for you specially?” she said.

<> 

Delia’s foresight had at least enabled a thaw to set in, but a certain chilliness prevailed in the office later. Illya returned to his journal but the fact that several people, including Napoleon, had known, and he hadn’t, continued to rankle. It wasn’t the cake, he told himself, it was the principle of the thing: Napoleon could have said something earlier. But Delia had kept some for him – how had she known she would need to? Did she keep some for anyone else? He chided himself for being petty. Delia was fond of him, mothered him, kept an eye out for him. Maybe she did for others…

‘Like who?’ the green-eyed monster snarled at him… He stared it down angrily. It really didn’t matter; why worry? He looked up and found Napoleon watching him.

“What?” he said, a little aggressively.

“It wasn’t that she told me and not you,” said Napoleon. “She told Lisa in case Mr Waverly might like some – I overheard the call, and then I forgot. The grapevine did the rest.”

“Oh.”

“You know, she would have kept some for you whether you’d been in time or not.”

Illya flushed. Was he so obvious? “It’s just cake,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s good. I thought for a minute you might decide not to join me for a meal tonight. Any preference about where we go?”

“Who’s paying?”

“I _would_ but I need a small loan… so it has to be your choice.”

“There’s a hotdog stand near my apartment.”

“I don’t think we’ve sunk that low yet. How about I cook instead – steak do you?”

“Napoleon, you are so…”

“What?”

“Disarming … damn you.”

“My stock in trade. You know that.”

Illya smiled a little and lifted a bag. “I’ll bring the rest of the cake, then.”

<><><><> 


End file.
